


Lesser Beings

by kehinki



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Hate Sex, M/M, PWP, Rough Sex, Sexual Violence, Spit As Lube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 21:28:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3183776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kehinki/pseuds/kehinki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony had always wanted Steve to like him. </p><p>Now he kind of wanted to kill him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lesser Beings

**Author's Note:**

> So! Some anons wanted Steve/Tony hate sex and another wanted Steve getting fingerfucked by Ultron so I kind of combined them. Getting fingerfucked by Iron Man's close enough, right?

 

It was like talking to a brick wall.

Maybe Steve just wasn’t _listening_ , because no matter what Tony told him, no matter how he explained it, he would always have a retort, some kind of smartass response that would sum up how Wrong Tony was. “You’re not understanding.”

“I think I’m understanding just fine,” Steve said, scowling at him. He was still in his uniform, still covered in dirt, blood, and sweat, and full of so much rage that Tony could swear he could feel it pulsing off him in waves. “Ever brilliant Tony Stark wanted a preemptive strike.”

“And you wanted to sit on your hands,” Tony replied. He could feel blood pound at his temples; so much for talking about this calmly. It looked like he would have to gear in for another lecture from some sanctimonious prick half his fucking age. “You’re in this fight—this mess—just the same as I am,” he said, gesturing to the squalid surroundings of the safe house, “so it’d be helpful if you started offering solutions instead of spouting condemnations. _But_ ,” he added, “you don’t know a damned thing about these machines so maybe you should shut the fuck up and let me take care of it.”

“Because that’s gone so well for us so far,” Steve replied easily. He turned away from him and began to take off his gloves and tattered over-armour. Tony kept his own suit on. “You think—you think because you’re such a genius that you know better than the rest of us dumb schmucks, that you can make decisions for everyone—”

“I was trying to keep them _safe_!” he barked, and he hadn’t meant to yell but he could feel the rage building, cloying and thick like bile working its way up his throat. What the hell made Steve the grand fucking moral authority of everything? He’d rather Tony did nothing, like him, just wait for the damage to happen—wait for people to get hurt—before acting.

Maddeningly, Steve didn’t even bother replying, just continued shucking off his wet and bloodied uniform. Like Tony was too much of a dumb fuck to try reasoning with. Like it didn’t _matter_ what he thought.

“Look at me,” he told him, taking a clanking step towards him. Steve stiffened but didn’t comply. Tony extended a gauntlet-clad hand and grabbed him by the arm, spinning him around. “Look at me when I fucking _talk to you_.”

Steve’s jaw was clenched so hard it looked like his hurt. His nostrils were flared, his breathing heavy.

“Back off,” he said, his lips barely parting.

Tony gripped his arm tighter, and stepped even closer, until he could feel Steve’s breath. His eyes flicked to those downturned lips, pink and plush and pressed very, very thin.

Before he had any time to process it, Steve darted forward and _bit him._

Bit his _lips_.

Tony threw a punch, his gauntleted fist connecting against the side of Steve’s head, causing him to stagger sideways. He hardly registered the pain, just licked the iron tang off his lips, pressed his tongue against the still-hot bite marks and lapped against the welling blood.

Steve’s mouth was red.

“You dumb fuck,” Tony breathed, and distantly heard Steve’s voice from years ago growl, _put on the suit._ “You think you can take me? Like this?” he said, spreading his arms apart. “Can’t string together a reasonable response so you resort to biting and kicking?” He clucked his tongue. He would be the reasonable one here, the one who had it all together. Steve was the liability.

Steve darted forward again and nearly toppled him over, but he grabbed a wrist and the side of his head, slamming him against the wall. The whole cabin seemed to rattle, dust drifting down from the rafters, lamps flickering.

Steve faced was flushed but there wasn’t even a bead of sweat on him. “You’re so damn rotten,” he said, “that even when you try to do the smallest bit of good, you fuck it all up. What’s the body count, Stark?”

White-hot, desperate _wrath_ clouded his vision. He wanted to scream in Steve’s face like a wild animal or sink his teeth into his jugular and rip it out. Instead, he lifted him forward and slammed him into the wall again, _hard_.

He felt Steve’s wrist bones creak under the gauntlet but it didn’t matter. He’d heal. He could do whatever the fuck he wanted and Steve’s would heal. “You’re pathetic,” he ground out. “What’ve you done the whole time you’ve been here—in the future? You aided fucking HYDRA for two years—the fucking terrorist organization you have _yet_ to eradicate.” Steve moved to head-butt him but Tony dodged, and tightened his grip on Steve’s wrist in reprimand. “And now your old fuck buddy’s running around Europe killing god knows how many people and that’s _fine_ , isn’t it? Rules only apply to us lesser beings. Right?”

This time, it was Tony who moved forward, intent on licking his own blood off Steve’s lips before he could get a word in. His lower lip was plump and slick, and Tony nipped at it before drawing in into his mouth.

Steve was growling, trying to shove his tongue against Tony’s and clawing hard enough at Tony’s armour to make it creak. This was it, this was Steve at his most base, pushed off his pedestal and forced into the mud along with the rest of them. Along with Tony.

He broke away from the kiss—the _assault_ —to gasp for breath.

“I hate you so fucking much,” Steve panted, his face crumpled in—Tony wasn’t sure. Rage, misery, disgust. “I _hate_ you. I shouldn’t even _be here_ but _you_ —”

Tony shut him up by shoving him to the floor. He sealed his mouth over his again; Steve’s lips were now slick with blood and spit, easy to slide against, and Tony held him still by his wrists, taking what he wanted. He could feel him trying to rear back, evidently not wanting to put up with it because why would he—Steve was too domineering to let somebody else be in charge for even a split—

“So controlling,” Steve grunted, wrenching his mouth away. “Should’ve known.” He’d finally been able to school his features, his face stony, like he wasn’t just frantically making out with Tony but instead scolding a misbehaving child.

Tony ground his knee against Steve’s erection and _that_ got him to drop the act. He tried to bite down a groan but Tony heard it, the little _auh_ that slipped from his lips. The fucker was desperate, hot and wanting like a bitch in heat and it was because of _Tony_.

He laughed. Maybe Steve missed it, being the little guy, being shoved around in dirty alleys.

“Aw, kiddo,” Tony said, straddling his thighs, “looks like all your drama might’ve just been hormones.”

Steve lifted a thigh up to rest it against Tony’s crotch plate—pointless because he couldn’t feel anything. “What about you? Still limp in there? There’re pills—”

He shoved two fingers into Steve’s mouth. That was enough of that.

Steve glared up at him, eyes bright. He pressed the gauntleted fingers against Steve’s tongue, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he hesitated. Tony could only guess at what was going through his mind. Maybe he wanted to bite his fingers clean off, metal and all. Maybe he desperately wanted to wrap his lips around them and suck.

Tony made up his mind for him. “Suck,” he said calmly, shoving his fingers harder against Steve’s tongue but not deep enough to make him gag. “Trust me, you’ll want those as wet as possible.”

And that was when Steve started thrashing, really giving it his all. He bucked his hips up, arching off the floor before wrapping his legs around Tony’s waist to try to flip them over. He got about halfway there, the two of them lying on their sides, tangled up in each other as Steve shoved against him with his hips, Tony’s fingers now lodged down his throat, both of Steve’s hands held together under one gauntlet.

“Done?” Tony asked.

Steve replied by squeezing his thighs tighter around the armour, hard enough that Tony could feel it start to buckle.

And then, he wrenched his hands down and threw his weight, turning them over so he was lying on top of Tony.

“Mmf,” Steve said, closing his eyes and actually beginning to _suck_ on the fingers in his mouth, like Tony had _told him to_. He pressed his body down against the armour and canted his hips up and down and just—humping against the metal plates, slow and leisurely.

So, he was a slut who needed to pretend like he was in charge.

“Look at you, finally being put to good use,” he said, imagining his tongue rolling over the fingers. He could sense the pressure, but he wished he could feel the heat of his mouth, the wetness.

Steve spat his fingers out, a thin trail of drool slipping from the corner of his mouth. “I’ve done more _good_ in two years than you’ve managed to do your whole life,” he said with no intonation. A statement of fact.

Tony flipped them again, wondering somewhere in the back of his mind whether or not Steve really believed that. “All you did was clean up your own damn mess,” Tony snarled, leveling a repulsor at Steve’s under-armour and blasting the seams apart with probably a lot less precision than he would in any other circumstance, if Steve’s yelp of pain was anything to go by. He’d heal.

He planted his hands on Tony’s shoulders, digging them in, and Tony could _feel_ the metal bend and dig into his flesh. That’d bruise.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Steve was hissing, gripping a repulsor burn on his thigh as Tony gritted his teeth against the jagged metal of the suit working his way into his own flesh.

He was naked under Tony now, writhing half in pain and half in want, bucking his hips up in an attempt to fuck himself against _something_. His dick was bright pink and wet, bobbing against his stomach lewdly. Tony’s own dick was agonizingly hard inside the suit, straining against metal.

He didn’t hesitate. He pulled Steve’s hips into his lap and shoved a finger into him, locking the joints in place for minimal tearing.

If he tore him up, no doubt Steve would make some joke about _blood on his hands._

Steve was panting, twisting his hips around, trying to—Tony wasn’t sure. Trying to force him deeper or maybe shove him out. “Use your words and tell me what you want,” Tony chided, smacking his repulsor-burned flank.

Steve made a sound like _guh_ , and scraped his nails down the armour’s back.

Tony shoved another finger into him and Steve’s eyelashes became dark, clumping together. He pulled them out and shoved back into him in a wicked pace, watching Steve’s hole flutter against their width. The needy bastard. Always so untouchable and look at him now, writhing around on the dirty floor, fucking himself on Iron Man’s fingers, blood in his mouth and pre-come slathered over his gut. 

Tony used his free hand to pinch at one of his pert, pink nipples, and Steve reared back and _punched_ him in the face.

His fucking _face_ —without the faceplate. 

His vision whited out, his ears rang. He could only feel a numb throbbing, and then hot blood leak from his nose and down between his lips. Steve was still moving, trying to sit up, and Tony instinctively curled the fingers that were still inside him before shoving them up as high as they would go. He’d make him scream.

And he _did_ —he yelled, curling in on himself a little. They were both sitting up now, Steve in his lap, fucking himself on the fingers—his skin probably catching painfully on the joints, making him bleed—and Tony sitting in a daze, vision still going in and out. He could see Steve’s face, and the shadows moving over his open mouth and hooded eyes.

Steve leaned in close, lapped at the blood on Tony’s mouth. “I think you said something about not trusting a man without a dark side?” he panted.

Tony sluggishly turned his eyes away from him, feeling his gasping breaths against his cheek. He curled his fingers up, trying to find that spot so Steve would just _come already._

He did, a minute later, arching up and against him, white-hot come wetting the front of the suit.

And all at once his anger abetted to something else. Why did Steve have to be this way? Why did every single fucking thing Tony ever tried to do have to go to shit, have to cost him so much? Every act of altruism turned selfish. Every ounce of goodness turning into ashes in his clumsy hands, while Steve—while Steve looked down his nose at him, unimpressed.

He shoved Steve away, told him to clean himself up. He was still hard inside the suit, but it would pass.

Steve huffed out an exhausted, sad, _mean_ sort of laugh.

 


End file.
